Snippet of Tower of Torment

I am still in the editing process of my 4th book in the Realm of Ashenclaw series entitled TOWER OF TORMENT and thought that I would offer up a snippet of the upcoming novel in its rawest of forms to whet your appetite.

I am still hoping for a late 2013 release date. The following is the very beginning section of the Prologue. I hope you enjoy!

Rose Thorne by WIlliam Kenney

He chewed on his breakfast, a well-made roasted duck being the main course, as he sat comfortably at the rear of the Steel Dragon. He sat alone, watching through the dusty window at the crowd of passersby.

He was waiting for her. He knew she was coming. He could feel it.

He sat at a large table made of the finest oaks of the town’s namesake and rapped his knuckle on it as if to reassure its quality. He absently sipped a bit of his honey spiced wine and frowned at its bitter flavor this day. He fondled a slice of crisp apple that rested on his plate beside a portion of the partially eaten duck and shoved the plate aside. His stomach was churning with anticipation.

Several of his men stood behind him at the ready and several more sat at adjacent tables, eating and expertly blending in with the crowd. Their subterfuge however, would do them all no good he realized, stifling a smile and knowing that she would recognize them for what they were as soon as she laid eyes upon them.  She might actually find it amusing. Nonetheless, he decided that it would be practical to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

His confirmation of her loyalty after speaking with both Nimaira and Tiyarnon softened his anger, he admitted. From what he could tell she had not offered any information about his den of rogues or anything that might even incriminate him to the Council.

He summoned a serving wench with a snap of his fingers.

“Yes, my lord?” she said with a respectful bow.

“I’d like a refill,” he stated, holding his mug in the air. She gingerly grasped the outstretched mug and he snatched her hand at the same time and forced her into his lap. She landed softly and with a giggle, never spilling a drop.

“Quite good you are with the pitcher,” he offered as a compliment.

“I’m good at many thin—“

“I hope you are going to pay for that, Ganthorpe Randolph,” called a gruff voice from behind them, interrupting the woman before she could finish her flirtation. This was followed by a bellowing laugh. He turned to witness the proprietor of the Steel Dragon, Fabian Oxborn. 

Fabian was a bear of a man with dark skin and hair to match and a thick shock of a beard that ran halfway down his chest. He wore an apron that was soiled with all kinds of stains and his odor was born of a mix of spices, most of them pleasing to the senses.

“Of course I won’t,” Ganthorpe barked with a forced smile, gently lifting the girl from his lap and setting her upright before finding his own footing and standing out of respect  “I’d still love a refill of that wine, though,” he added to the serving girl with a sideways glance.

“No need to get up,” interrupted Fabian with a wave of his hand, gesturing for him to be seated again.

“Then you sit, too,” Ganthorpe instructed with a gesture in return. The big man slowly lowered himself onto the chair, which creaked under his weight.

“Still eating a bit too much into your own profits I see,” suggested Ganthorpe through a laugh and nodding toward the man’s bulbous belly.

Fabian rubbed his stomach and smiled, “indeed.” Suddenly his smile disappeared and he licked his lips.

“What is it?”

“I’ve some news,” said the big man, leaning in. Ganthorpe's icy blue eyes hardened, losing all signs of his light-hearted appearance from a mere heartbeat ago and regarded him coldly. He nodded, indicating for Fabian to continue as he looked about, seeing none but his own guards surrounding them. Fabian leaned in close to him, as best as his belly would allow and spoke in a whisper.

“There’s rumors that yer girl is back. The one that’s been missing.”

Ganthorpe eyed him steadily, his expression never changing. “And where did you hear this?”

“An informant I have in the Commons. An old wretch of a man that would trade his own mother for a bottle of me cheapest rum.”

“And how can you believe this…'wretch'…as you call him? Not that I doubt the information is true.”

“Said he seen her wandering around the Street of Jackals. Appropriate name if ya’ ask me,” he said as he picked up a piece of chopped apple, sniffed it and tossed it into his mouth. Ganthorpe said nothing again, staring at the man who chewed the apple loudly and slumped into his chair.

So Helgoth has not completed his task yet, he mused, a smile involuntarily creeping across his face. She’s not gonna’ go down without a fight. He glanced up at the weighty man seated across the table and returned his attention to him.

“Well, thanks for the good word, Fabian.”

With that, Ganthorpe stood and stared deep within the shadowed recesses of the hall leading back to the kitchen.

He caught a glimmer of auburn hair just then as it disappeared within the darkness.

His heart skipped a beat, began to race suddenly, and he became flush.

 She is here!

“Are you alright?”

Ganthorpe turned and regarded the huge man who stared at him. He blinked at him a few times before realizing he’d asked him a question.

“Of course,” he lied, straightening his jerkin and running a hand through his dark hair. He sat back down in the chair and leaned in close again.

“I need to make use of your private office.”

Fabian looked at him queerly and then nodded. “Of course ya’ can use it. Do I—“

“No...no questions asked. Just give me the key. Or don’t. Either way.” Fabian reached below the collar of his apron and removed a chain with a key dangling on its end. He handed it to Ganthorpe who accepted it absently and looked to his guards. “Stay here. I will return soon enough.”

His men also looked at him as if they all wanted to question him, but none of them uttered a word.

He nodded to them and proceeded up several flights of stairs to Fabian’s private office, inserted the key, turned the knob and walked in. The space was bathed in shadow as it only had one window on the opposite side of the room from the door. Fabian had it built that way as the man was more than a bit distrustful. And reasonably so, as he operated an illicit gambling setup as well as a delightful kitchen.

“Hello, lover boy.”

 His heart skipped a beat. A shadowy figure emerged from the recesses of the darkness and a flash of auburn hair shone briefly in the light of the window.

“Are you trying to have me killed?” 

Please join me and the other amazingly talented authors over @ Skulldust Circle where we have formed a Writer's Circle that must be seen--a collection of brilliant, up & coming independently published speculative fiction authors with much to give both now and in the future!

All Artwork and covers by William J. Kenney

Visit my AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

See you in Wothlondia! Cheers!

Also, please visit MY HOME PAGE to enjoy an extended reading experience and to see what else Ashenclaw Studios, LLC has in store in the future!

photo from http://www.sxc.hu/

All maps, names and content copyright Ashenclaw Studios 2012 unless otherwise noted.

A ROSE IN BLOOM FREE AGAIN!

This Friday and Saturday (May 18th & 19th), My Wothlondia Rising 2: A ROSE IN BLOOM will be absolutely FREE! This will be the last 2 days for the FREE promotions, so snag yourself a copy and step into the gritty world of this youthful rogue as she learns some valuable life lessons!

CLICK ME!

A ROSE IN BLOOM Excerpt for Sample Sunday

I wanted to give you all another sample of A Rose in Bloom for FREE here to see if this will whet your appetite! This scene has a bit of intrigue and romance for anyone who enjoys that sort of thing. (a few of you ladies have asked me for some romance, so here it is!) This involves characters in my novels including Ganthorpe Randolph and Rose Thorne. I hope you enjoy the excerpt!

 He strode respectfully past the women gathered in the antechamber of the brothel, who were all gawking at him, and he smiled back at them with his charming grin. Then he suddenly turned to Marielle, who was escorting him to the room.

“Sorry for my delay,” he apologized as he tossed a golden coin toward her. She caught it and smiled, never even looking at it.

“A peace offering?” she asked him sarcastically, rolling the coin over with her fingers.

Cover art by William Kenney

“Of course,” he answered, bowing before her. “My Rose is a delicate flower and is not to be plucked by any but me, as per our agreement.”

“I have my own stream of coins—save it for your girl,” she answered, flinging the gold coin back to him. He caught it deftly, his hand navigating the space quickly. Then he shrugged, never really getting used to the boldness and candor of the woman. He certainly admired her business sense and merely nodded in response. She was a surprising one.

“Besides, you may need it to stem a lashing,” she added with a chuckle, knowing Rose would be none too pleased at his tardiness.

“Very well,” he finally managed to say, licking his dried lips before turning the corner of the hall and climbing the staircase to the next floor. Marielle watched as he paused at Rose’s door, removed a red rose from beneath his jacket, and then knocked lightly.

“It’s about damned time!” he heard from within, and he grinned.

Marielle quietly retreated, leaving him alone in the hallway. He opened the door and found the most recent of his infatuations sitting in a chair, drinking a glass of wine. She frowned at him as he entered and he handed her the flower.

“You are rather behind schedule,” Rose interjected, expecting some kind of explanation, but none was forthcoming.

“A rose for my Rose,” he smiled, bowing low and ignoring her remark. Then he moved in and kissed her. She shoved him away playfully before giving herself over to him. She kissed him deeply for a long moment as they fell to the bed.

“I have a proposition for you,” Ganthorpe began, as they lay next to one another a few hours later.

Rose leaned up on her elbows and stared at him intently with her gray eyes.

“I’m listening,” she told him.

Then she rolled away to sit in the chair adjacent to the bed and tasted another sip of her fruity wine. A moment passed and she placed the glass down on the desk, stood and stretched and then looked expectantly at him. Her raised eyebrows instructed him to continue voicing his current notion. He swallowed hard, fighting through the obvious distraction she presented to him, her supple body shimmering in the dimly lit room, but he was up for the challenge.

“I know that you have certain skills—”

“Well, of course I do,” she snapped, cutting him off and responding to what she thought he meant. He shook his head and continued.

“Not what I mean. You have a certain flair for… pilfering goods in the marketplace,” he observed simply, drawing an inquisitive look from her. “The Trade District, my dear,” he clarified.

She turned a puzzled look his way and frowned, not quite sure what he was talking about. It was clear that he wanted to converse, though. She pulled a light silken robe over her elegant frame and sat in the chair facing him, still unsure what he was getting at.

“You know my meaning,” Ganthorpe said, his eyes turning icy as they regarded her.

Then she panicked, sensing something serious about him that she’d never seen before. His tone was altogether different, too, and somewhat intimidating. Rose tried to remain calm, steadying her breathing, but she could not help shooting a surreptitious glance his way. She slipped a small knife out of the drawer of the table behind her, thinking the man to suddenly be other than she had originally perceived him to be.

“Is this some kind of threat?” Rose asked, wondering if she had stolen something from him inadvertently and that now, perhaps, he meant to make her pay. She’d been the recipient of many betrayals from others, promising one thing or another, but this one hurt most of all.

He laughed in response to her question as if to dismiss the absurdity of the accusation. However, her paranoia was mounting and she did not see it as such.

“Yes,” he answered, half smiling again and moving toward her.

Rose, now terrified, dove at him clumsily with the tip of her knife extended. He slid to the side, caught her by the arm and forced her slash downwards and into the goose down that filled her bedding beneath the linens. He then twisted her wrist and placed his thumb in an uncomfortable area, forcing her to relinquish the dagger.

“And no,” he finally added. He admired the speed at which she had launched the attack. Then he steeled his face again, trying to remain calm after the inevitable flood of adrenaline through his veins. “Did you mean to kill me?” he asked incredulously.

Rose nodded slightly, then shrugged and winced in pain at the wrist-lock still held in place. He hadn’t even realized he still held her and so released her immediately, moving off the bed to stand away from her.

“By the gods, girl—calm down! I’m not going to send you to Archinon!” he cried, throwing his arms up. He was referring, of course, to the home of the gladiatorial arenas in southwestern Wothlondia. That was where the law-breakers and other miscreants taken captive by the Watch were sent by caravan monthly to receive judgment for their crimes in one manner or another. King Tallaruk, Archinon’s fierce ruler, was a sadistic but fair king, Ganthorpe considered, thinking the man to be a bit like himself in this regard.

“What then?” Rose questioned him, flustered and gesturing wildly to strengthen her position.

“Keep your voice down,” he instructed in a commanding, whispered tone. He closed in on her again and stood facing her. Then he sat on the bed, beckoning her to sit too. She did so, reluctantly and vigilant, holding his gaze steadily, a tentative contemplation registering behind her gaze.

“I have eyes everywhere in this city,” he began to explain. This confused and surprised Rose at the same time.

“Who are you?” Rose asked him, whispering now.

“I am Ganthorpe Randolph—the soon-to-be-Assistant Mayor of Oakhaven,” he announced clearly to her, boasting proudly as if the deed had already happened. Then he modified his tone and spoke words meant to gauge a reaction. “That could mean a much busier schedule and a public image that may add up to less frequent visits on my part,” he went on, watching intently the expression on the young woman’s face. He noted the hint of disappointment there, for he was extraordinarily skillful at reading even the slightest change in body language or mannerisms, as well as the most insubstantial of vocal fluctuations. It was one of his many gifts.

“I am aware of these things,” Rose answered, pursing her lips and then biting the lower one as she turned away from him briefly.

“Ah, but what you do not know—and what no one but a select few know—is that I run the Thieves’ Guild, an organization of pickpockets and rogues here in Oakhaven!”

Rose spun back towards him, letting the information sink in. She recalled in the recent past having been approached by thugs and footpads on the street on numerous occasions, threatening her and worse, but she had never suffered any repercussions. She had simply ascribed their words as empty threats from wretched men. Now she was beginning to picture a different scenario.

“I want you to join us… join me,” he went on. She grimaced at first and then placed a hand to her chin in a contemplative posture for a moment, followed by a long bout of silence. “I will tutor you personally in the ways of the underworld and you will have riches beyond compare,” he added as encouragement.

“I—but, what of Marielle?” Rose asked, sincerely concerned with how her Madam might react to the news.

“I will make it worth her while,” Ganthorpe replied, smiling that wide grin that seemed wolfish to her now, with just a hint of the boyish charm that was more familiar.  “I know what it is like, Rose, to have nothing and to have to steal to survive.”

“I own enough coin now,” she lied, fending off his accusation, but Ganthorpe recognized the hint of falsehood beneath her words. He detected the slight variation in her voice, even though she’d masked it expertly. But rather than pursue that line of thinking, he shifted the focus of the conversation once more to something less antagonistic.

Finished Cover

  “Besides, you can’t help yourself, can you?” He asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer. For he knew exactly how she felt, as he thought them to be truly kindred souls. He was slightly older than she, but the excitement of perpetrating the heist or the pick-pocket was without comparison.

“I do have a strange desire to pilfer,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Well? What say you?” he asked her, crossing his arms over his chest. Rose simply moved forward, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“So, you don’t want to kill me anymore, I hope?” he asked, pushing her back to witness her reaction.

“Not at the moment,” she winked. He could not tell if the threat was truly meant behind the smile that followed. It was one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place. He was inwardly happy at the news and relaxed again, confident that he had made the correct decision in bringing up the subject after all.

“There is nothing quite like the thrill of using your skills to relieve a wealthy merchant of his wares, eh?” he asked her again, raising an eyebrow. “Now, all I need is to teach you how to use that dagger of yours,” he added sarcastically.

“I can use one just fine,” she retorted, producing a hidden blade from somewhere beneath the loose fitting silk robe she wore and holding it to his neck. It was a very thin knife blade, like that used to skin a piece of fruit, and was small and very lightweight. She had removed the handle, leaving only the sharp steel behind. “You see, I am not without certain skills of my own.”

She pulled the knife away from his neck and tossed it on the desk.

“I see that I have underestimated you, Rose,” he smiled, obviously impressed. Her actions further supported his decision to invite her. “It won’t happen again.”

“A girl’s gotta protect herself, right?” she said, removing her robe, this time genuinely disarming herself. “Would you like to check me for further concealed weapons?”

“Truly remarkable,” he laughed as he grabbed her by the neck and kissed her hard on the lips. “A Rose with thorns,” he observed, holding her at arm’s length.

“You have no idea,” she replied. As she shoved him forcefully onto the bed, some of the goose down billowed out from the tear of her failed assault. They remained intertwined until the sun appeared from behind distant clouds in the eastern sky. 

I hope you enjoyed the sample! See you in Wothlondia! Cheers!

Please visit MY HOME PAGE to enjoy an extended reading experience, see direct links to purchase my full length novel, Covenant of the Faceless Knights, the short stories: Wothlondia Rising, and to see what else Ashenclaw Studios, LLC has in store in the future!

Cover art by William Kenney!

All maps, names and content copyright Ashenclaw Studios 2012 unless otherwise noted.